I Am Not Afraid To Walk This World Alone
by vacantandstained
Summary: Frerard AU. When Mikey and Gerard woke up that morning, they had no idea how much their lives were about to change. Frank hates the life he has been given, but can he find the courage to escape?
1. Chapter One

**Mikey's POV  
**

You know that kid in the movies who convinces themselves that they have it in them to be the hero, even when they clearly don't?

Yeah, that's my brother.

It's not that he's weak or anything – though he's hardly the Hulk. It's just that when you're eighteen and skinny and your opponent is a man wide and strong enough to be mistaken for a brick wall with a pulse, you don't have a chance no matter who you are.

Gee had been pacing the cell for the three hours we'd been in here – fortunately I'd been wearing a watch when we were thrown in here, so at least we could count the minutes we were left to rot – but as soon as the door had swung open, he'd sprung into action and leapt at the guard entering.

Now, like I said, this guy wasn't exactly small. And, again like I said, my brother is skinny, so when the guard struck out an arm and caught Gee's stomach in mid-air, Gee went flying. He landed against the wall with a startling thump, and slid down to the floor.

I gasped and ran to his side, kneeling beside him and glaring at the guy in the doorway. Gee was thankfully still conscious, though not as energetic as before. He shakily sat up, clutching his right shoulder. He wavered a little, but I grabbed his left arm before he had a chance to fall.

'Gee? You okay, Gee?' I whispered worriedly, my eyes scanning his body for blood.

All in all, he looked pretty unscathed, and his reply confirmed my assumptions.

'Get the fuck off me, Mikey. I'm fine.' He growled, shrugging me off and snarling at the guard.

Brick Wall simply snorted, his harsh face contorting into what I assumed would have been a grin on anyone less evil. He stepped into the room and to the left, resting himself against the dank grey concrete next to the door. Behind him, another guard followed, situating himself on the opposite side of the door. I glowered at them both as hard as I could, though I was sure my look would be nothing compared to Gee's.

Sure enough, when I glanced at Gee out of the corner of my eye, his scowl was so angry a grizzly would've probably whimpered at it.

Another guard followed and stopped in the centre of the room, his arms behind him, eyes blank. Three guards? Really, they needed _three _guards for two teenage boys? Did they think that we'd somehow manage to break through the first set of guards? Really, it was pretty over the top if you asked me.

Not that they did, I got the feeling they didn't really care what I thought. To be fair, at this particular moment my judgements on the running of their – Business? Organisation? – whatever, didn't even matter to me. All that mattered was the Gee was alright.

Oh yeah, and that we eventually got out of this hell hole. That was pretty important too.


	2. Chapter Two

**Gerard's POV**

How the fuck did we end up here? What the fuck do they want us for? _What the fucking fuck?_

About a thousand questions flitted through my foggy brain – and about a hundred thousand curses followed. I couldn't think straight, not since that dickbag of a guard threw me against the wall.

My shoulder hurt like a bitch too, which wasn't helping the situation any. Okay, I admit that jumping that guy wasn't exactly a good idea. But come on, what else was there to do? We'd been in here for fucking _hours_; all I could think about was escape.

I so badly wanted to be at home, lying in the sanctuary of my room with my comic books. Drawing them, reading them, whatever, I didn't really care right now. Yeah, that sounds geeky, deal with it.

Worst of all, I just wanted Mikey to be away from here. It was bad enough that I'd somehow managed to get involved in whatever the fuck this was - I didn't want Mikey in danger too.

Mum'd kill me if he got hurt. Hell, I'd probably kill myself.

I let my head roll downwards so my chin rested against my chest, tired of glaring at those dickweed guards. Seriously though, were three necessary? Were we really that scary?

*snort* Mikey and I couldn't scare a fucking mouse. Two lanky teens with eyeliner and skin-tight jeans didn't exactly exude intimidation. The amount of shit we got given at school was bad enough, but at least there I was big enough to kick the asses of anyone messing with us. Here...well, I was kinda out of my league.

Totally out of league, more like, but my ego wasn't really willing to let that little piece of information sink in just yet.

No matter how hard I concentrated, or how tight I squeezed my eyes shut, I just couldn't understand why we were here. Mikey and I weren't really the kind of people the Mob picked up – cause that's what these guys had to be, right? The black suits, the cold eyes, they were stereotypes in action.

Sure, we weren't exactly the average teen you'd find in this state, but we weren't worthy of _Mob _attention. We stuck to ourselves mostly, though this year Mikey had branched out a little and found himself a couple of friends. That tall guy with the afro – Ron? Maybe Ryan? – and that blond guy. I know their names didn't really matter, but it gave me something to think about.

Was either of those guys likely to be the Mob?

I nearly laughed out loud at that one. The guys were geeks, outcasts, just like me and Mikey. There was no way they were anything to do with this.

Right?

Give me a break, when you're stuck in a cell with a bunch of steroid-pumped hard-men glaring at you, you start to judge everyone you know.

How did this all happen? I guess the beginning is always a good place to start.


	3. Chapter Three

**Gerard's POV**

That Morning...

'_Gee! Get your ass out of bed!' Mikey whined up the stairs impatiently._

_I groaned and buried my head further under my pillow. It was so early... Why couldn't they start school at a more humane hour – never, for example._

_I sighed and finally pulled the pillow off my face, throwing it across the room childishly. It flew through the air and slid to a halt on my dresser. Not before sending my makeup flying though. Ugh, I guess that's karma for you._

_I sat up slowly, rubbing my hands across my face in an attempt to find some sort of energy. It was in vain, of course – the only type of energy I'd find this early in the morning was the freshly-brewed, caffeinated kind._

_Resisting the urge to slump back down into bed, I kicked the covers off and slid my legs to the floor. Scrunching my toes in the soft, black carpet, I took a glance at the clock on my bedside table. In judging red lights, it told me that it was 8.45. This gave me exactly...fifteen minutes to get to school. Fuck, no wonder Mikey was being so stressy._

_I leapt off the bed and skidded across the room to my dresser, pulling out the first clothes I came to. I took them with me as I flew into the bathroom, turning the hot tap on the sink onto full and hopping out of my boxers._

_I was going to shower this morning as well. Oh well, that would have to wait. I kicked my boxers off and back into my room, figuring that they'd make their way to the hamper eventually._

_As I scrubbed my body with a flannel vigorously, I could hear Mikey moaning downstairs. I rolled my eyes. The bitch could walk his ass to school if he was so worried about being late. If he wanted a ride, he was just going to have to wait._

_I pulled on the clothes I'd grabbed from my dresser – a black Misfits t-shirt and skinny-fit black jeans, not too bad if I did say so myself – and sprinted back to my room. I was definitely regretting throwing the pillow now, as I dug around the thick carpet to find my eyeliner pencil._

_Finally, I found it underneath my bed and drew on a thick ring around each eye. It wasn't perfect, and if I had the time I'd have definitely done something about it, but right now I'd be lucky to make it to school before second period._

_I grabbed my leather jacket from the back of my chair and pulled it on as I searched for my boots. Finding one under my desk and the other on my windowsill – I know about as much as you do, okay? It's best not to ask – I yanked them on my feet as I ran down the stairs. Not safe, I know, but at least if I broke my neck falling down the stairs I wouldn't have to worry about being late any more._

_Mikey was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, huffing angrily and holding a flask full of coffee. I have the boy trained well, don't I? I took the flask from his outstretched hand and ruffled his hair playfully. He growled at that, but he was smiling slightly so I knew I wasn't in too much trouble. I pulled my book bag off the hook by the door and slung it over my shoulder._

'_You coming then, Mikey-boy? Don't wanna be late now, do we?' I teased, ducking out the door and closing it behind me before he could throw anything at me._

_A thump on the door confirmed my thoughts. Mikey pulled open the door and stooped down to pick up what he'd thrown – his chemistry text book._

'_Woah, Mikey. That thing's big, someone might get the impression you were trying to hurt me.' I fake-sniffed and held a hand to my heart dramatically._

_Mikey snorted and punched me in the arm._

'_Come on, let's go.' He said, walking past me to the passenger door of the car._

'_Sure thing, baby bro.' I teased, unlocking the car and sliding in the driver's seat._

_The ride to school was pretty uneventful. Same as usual: Mikey shoved his nose in some textbook while I blasted the stereo just that little bit too loud to be socially acceptable. I sang along with the lyrics, occasionally getting right in Mikey's face to distract him. Unfortunately, Mikey had fifteen years experience with my taunting, so was damn good at drowning me out._

_He indulged me a little by singing along to Nervous Breakdown, but who could blame him? Black Flag is fucking genius at work. Besides, I've always been sure that Mikey likes them more than he likes to admit – if my Black Flag CDs constantly turning up in his room are anything to go by._

_By the time we rolled up to the school parking lot, even the stoner kids were in class – and those guys needed Google maps to find the fucking cafeteria._

_Mikey leapt out of the car and was sprinting off to class before I'd even stopped the car. Kid was weird, so into school. He could get straight A's without evening entering the building with a brain like his, but he still did everything by the book._

_Me, I took a slightly more relaxed approach to school. The only reason I got here on time was 'cause Mikey threw a bitch-fit if we didn't. Even so, I usually wandered off campus for a while once we were here and ended up turning up late to first period anyway._

_Hey, what can I say? School blows. The lessons are too long, there aren't enough breaks in between – and then there are the people. I fucking hate people. Yeah I know, I'm being melodramatic, I'm just a moody teenager etc. Wrong._

_If I said I hate people, they fucking despise me. I can't go even an hour in this place without someone pushing me about. It's not even just the jocks though, it's everyone. Seriously, we're talking marching band geeks tripping me as I walk past._

_Fucking band geeks. It's all cause I've got no one on my side. Apart from my kid brother, but that's just cause he's as much of a freak as I am. He managed to find some fellow dorks this year though, and I guess I could hang out with them but come one, how pathetic would that be?_

_So I walk alone. Don't get me wrong, I could knock out half the kids who pick on me, but it's really not worth the effort it takes to lift my fists. I soon learnt that in my first year – but not after several fights, two mutilated jocks and about a thousand detentions. You think that would've deterred the rest, right? Wrong again, buddy._

_I sighed and shook my head, not willing to go into the depths of my social suicide again. Not having the usual luxury of time, I stepped out of the car and headed in the direction of my first class. It was pretty pointless to be honest, what with there only being like ten minutes until the bell would go, but I figured I should at least put in an appearance._

_When I pushed open the door to first period History, all eyes turned to me. I ignored the looks, even the more menacing ones. They weren't anything new to me. I looked around the room for an empty desk and groaned when I saw which one was left: the desk right in front of resident Jock asshole, Rick Fattell._

_I took a deep, steadying breath before I stalked across the room to the desk. I dropped my bag on the desk and slumped in my chair, my chin on my hands._

'_Nice that you finally decided to get here, Mr Way.' Huffed Mrs Lewis._

_I rolled my eyes. Whoever had married that she-witch had my sympathy forever. She glared at me through glasses so thick they could have actually been microscopes, her tiny grey eyes like a birds. Deep wrinkles were permanently set into her forehead, even when she smiled. Then again, I wasn't sure I'd ever actually seen her smile..._

_Just as I was contemplating actually waking up to that woman everyday - major shivers at that one - the desk behind me screeched forwards and Fattell's fat head appeared over my shoulder._

_'Morning, princess.' he hissed, sending spit flying into my hair._

_Gross, and I'd just showered an hour ago._

_I curled my hands into tight fists under my desk, staring resolutely at the board at the front of room._

_'Got nothing to say to me, faggot?' he growled, his mouth yet closer to my ear._

_Moist breath clung to my hair, making me shiver. I gripped my fists tighter, anything to prevent myself from moving. If I moved, Fattell would take it as a reaction and he'd never stop._

_Not that he'd stop anyway. In this hick town, apparently all it took to make you a 'faggot' was a little makeup and a dislike of sport. The fact that I was one had nothing to do with it._

_It was the principle of the thing._

_Don't you ignore me, you little faggot!' he snarled, spittle spattering my cheek._

_I flinched, and then concentrating was not going to be enough._

_'Careful with breathing on me like that, baby.' I whispered sarcastically, 'This 'little faggot' might just end up getting excited.'_

_Hey, I never said I didn't offer provocation. But gimme a break, the guy was a Class A douche bag._

_There was a long moment of silence while my words sunk in, then suddenly Fattell reared back away from me so violently he nearly toppled right out of his chair. I laughed at that, but not as loudly as I would have had I not known that I now had an ass-kicking scheduled sometime today with Fattell and his fellow ignoramuses._

_Sighing one of those deep, the-world-is-out-to-get-me sighs, I folded my arms on the desk and dropped my head onto them, refusing to move until the bell went. If I concentrated hard enough, I could just hear the tick-tock of the clock on the front wall of the room. I spent the rest of class – 194 seconds, to be precise – counting those little noises, just aching to be up and out of this room. _

_When the bell went, I flew up out of my chair and sprinted from the room – ignoring Mrs Lewis' shrill complaints. She was one of the 'the bell doesn't dismiss you, I do' brand of teachers. So full of shit, if that was true why would we even have a bell?_

_I swerved to the left as I exited the room, disappearing into the crowd before Fattell could catch up with me. I lifted my hand above the swarm of students and flipped him off quickly though – just so he knew I hadn't forgotten him, you know? Didn't want him feeling rejected. _

_As soon as I could, I dislodged myself from the crowd and down one of the quieter hallways. The one I'd picked seemed to be the one that headed towards the staff room, but I couldn't really tell. This whole place looked the same if you asked me. _

_I took a left, then a right until I ended up in the parking lot. My next class – Biology, if I remembered correctly – was on the opposite end of campus, but I was taking the...scenic route. Tucking myself into a corner that was well hidden from any class windows, I dug around in my bag for a pack of Marlboros and my trusty Zippo. _

_I lit up and took a long drag, sighing contentedly as I breathed out. There was nothing quite like that first smoke of the day. Except sex maybe, but I was hardly gonna whip it out in the middle of school was I? _

_I rolled my head round in a slow circle, wincing at the twinge of sore muscles in my neck. At some point, I was really going to have to stop staying up so late reading comics. It wasn't doing me any good, health wise. Then again, I'd made this decision a thousand times before and nothing had changed. Oh well, I wasn't going to change overnight._

_I lay my head back against the wall I leant on as I finished the cigarette, closing my eyes and breathing deep. When I felt the tips of my fingers begin to burn, I dropped the cigarette filter and stamped it out on the ground. I turned to head back into the building when I realised that the hairs on the back of my neck were standing straight up. _

_Slowly, I glanced back over my shoulder at the car park. At first I couldn't see anything out of the ordinary, just the usual empty cars and skittering of fallen leaves across the concrete. Then my eyes were drawn to a black van parked across the road from the school. I hadn't seen it before, which was saying something in this town. Everyone knew everyone here – unfortunately. _

_The windows of the van were blacked out so I couldn't see if there was anyone in there or not, but the shivery feeling creeping down my spine told me there was. Swallowing and berating myself for being so paranoid, I turned to the building again, dismissing my feelings as a general want for something interesting to happen in this place. _

_I was fifteen minutes late to Biology, but hardly anyone noticed. _

_Fattell caught up with me in the hallway after second period, backed up by two of his minions. I didn't know their names, and they didn't take the time to enlighten me as they shoved me face-first against my locker. They chuckled evilly as they sauntered off, glancing once or twice over their thick shoulders at me as I attempted to stop the flow of blood from my nose with my jacket sleeve. _

_Swearing under my breath, I'd steadied myself and head straight for third period. I got a lot of looks as I went, some people actually seeming sympathetic. I probably looked a total wreck, with dried blood crusting my face and what would probably end up being a black eye before the end of the day. _

_Mom was going to go ape-shit. She was always going on at me for provoking bullies, basically blaming me for what happened. Oh yeah, cause I just _begged_ Fattell and his cronies to kick the shit out of me. Highlight of my day, and all that. _

_I spent my time until lunch silently fuming. I blanked on my teachers, ignoring their lectures in favour of doodling in my notebook. By lunch, I'd drawn a detailed comic strip of me taking my revenge on anyone who'd done me wrong – decapitation and excessive blood splatters included. _

_When the bell for lunch rang, I slowly packed my things away. I wasn't really looking forward to heading back out into the halls. Fattell was probably waiting for me out there, and I wasn't in the mood for another beating. Mikey would be looking for me too – he always did at lunch, he didn't like me spending too much time alone. I couldn't let him see me like this, he'd just get upset. He'd mope and I wasn't about to be the person to put that puppy-dog pout on his face. _

_Everyone had disappeared from the room by the time I wandered out. Fortunately, no one was waiting for me in the hallway. I avoided the busier corridors and the cafeteria, both places where I was likely to run into at least one of the people I was trying to evade, and hid out in the music room. _

_I played one of the many guitars they had in there, fucking about with random chords until I came across a tune I liked the sound of. Digging around in my bag, I pulled out my notebook and made a scribbled note of the tune. Maybe I'd turn it into something more substantial later. _

_I waited till the second bell went to head to class, again in hope of avoiding people. I didn't run into Mikey, which was actually pretty surprising. Usually by now he'd have sniffed me out. Seriously, the kid was like a hunting dog – no matter where I hid, he'd always find me._

_I scuffed my shoes against the floor, shuffling slowly towards the Art classroom. It was across campus from where I was, and I'd have to walk across the parking lot to get there. Maybe I could take another look at that dodgy van, I thought as I pushed open the door to the parking lot. _

_I didn't have time to look though, cause as soon as the door closed behind me, there was an enormous _crack!_ and the world was turning black. As the ground approached, I cursed Fattell. He'd already had one crack at me today, did he really have to knock me out too?_

_Then I was a little too unconscious to think anything else. _


	4. Chapter Four

**Gerard's POV**

Then I'd woken up in the back of a van with my hands tied behind my back and the headache of the fucking century. Strange as it sounds, I was still cursing Fattell at this point. It hadn't occurred to me that, while Fattell was a total douche bag, he wasn't really the kidnapping type. All I could think was that I was going to kick his ass as soon as I got my hands untied.

Gimme a break okay? I was having a tough day.

Thanks to a splattering of black paint across the small windows on the back door, it was almost totally pitch-black in the van. I squinted around me, my vision steadily growing better.

I could feel something – no, someone – pressed tightly against my right shoulder, and the cold wall of the van was pressed against the right. I peered up at the person, way, way up. The guy was a fucking giant. Across from him was another gargantuan, and across from me was someone a lot smaller. Someone with familiar floppy brown hair and thick black-framed glasses. Someone that looked exactly like my brother.

Fuck, it was Mikey.

It was about then that realisation hit – these guys weren't high-school bullies, they were fucking kidnappers. Oh god, oh god, oh god. My brain blanked, my heart stopped and my throat closed up. Mikey and I were being kidnapped! This didn't happen! This happened to kids who lived in giant cities and walked home alone. This did not happen to small-town kids on their way to class!

I began to hyperventilate, black spots appearing in my vision. My head rolled and fell against my chest as dizziness took over. I couldn't understand anything that was happening. As I stared at my lap, hoping brain function would kick in again soon, the van bounced and jumped.

Where were we? The van was moving too much for us to be on town roads now, my brain offered. Finally, I seemed to be getting somewhere. Sure, I should've been thinking about escape, but at least I was thinking now.

So, I wasn't in town. That meant we would have been driving for at least fifteen minutes, since the school was right in the centre of town and it took at least that long to hit the back roads. It could've been any amount of time though, since I had no clue how long I'd been out.

Where would they be taking us?

I knew of a few backwoods cabins just outside of town, so that could be their destination. But why would a bunch of huge guys kidnap two teenage boys and take them to a cabin? Not for anything good, that's for sure.

It only occurred to me then that I should be checking on Mikey. He wasn't making any noise, but that didn't really mean much for him. I could just make out his outline in the darkness now. His head was against his chest, but I couldn't tell if that meant he was unconscious or not.

I tested my feet for ropes and fortunately found none. Eyeing the giants sitting beside us, I carefully nudged my foot against Mikey's. He snuffled and jerked a little. Oh shit, he was unconscious. I was gonna beat the shit out of these guys if they hurt my brother.

I tried to breathe deeply, tried to calm myself down so I could think. I considered my options, and realised sadly that I didn't actually have any. As I fought desperately against the tears threatening to fall from my stinging eyes, I realised that the van was slowing down. The gargantuans must've realised too, cause suddenly they were moving. The one next to me, whom I was now lovingly referring to in my head as 'Uber Dick', grabbed my head and manhandled a bag over it roughly.

I growled and snapped my teeth at him, but that only earned me a swift punch to the side of the head and the bag being yanked down over my face even more angrily.

I was jerked from the van by a thick hand on my bicep. I was dragged across gravel, barely able to pick up my feet for myself. I couldn't see a thing through the cloth over my face and that bugged me. I couldn't stand not knowing where I was.

Then again, where abouts in the backwoods of this town was I aware of a place that had a gravelled entrance? Probably seeing where I was wouldn't help anyway.

Tugged and yanked for a few more minutes, I concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. I concentrated on the sound of Mikey's breathing, ready to lash out if I heard so much as a sigh from him.

I was doing pretty well with the whole walking thing until we hit stairs. My feet dropped out from underneath me as the ground disappeared. My knees cracked against solid stone steps, but I wasn't given any time to recover. Uber Dick simply carried on walking, dragging me down the steps on my knees. I yelped and tried to stand, but I didn't have the chance.

Every time my knees struck the steps, pain sparked up my tired body. Where the fuck where we going? We were going downwards, but we'd never gone into a house.

We were heading into some backwoods bunker. Oh god, this was a horror movie in the making.

Finally, the stairs ended and I heard the creak of metal. Suddenly, I was thrown haphazardly into a room. I skidded against concrete flooring, my hands scraping painfully against the ground. I heard footsteps in front of me, and then I was being turned around and pulled to my feet. I wavered where I stood, but managed not to fall.

Someone behind me made a metallic snick! and I was instantly reminded of Boy Scout campouts, of campfires, of...penknives. I gulped, my breathing picking up again as a thousand images of what was going to happen with that knife flickered through my brain.

Then, my hands were yanked away from my body – twisting my shoulders painfully, might I add – and the ropes around them were cut. My arms dropped suddenly to my sides, blood filling my hands in a rush of stinging relief.

Someone kicked me in the back of the shin, making me drop to my knees. Then the bag disappeared from my face and I was staring at a blank concrete wall. I heard scuffling behind me and then that creaking metal again. A threatening clang! echoed eerily through the small room.

I span on my knees, ending up on my ass facing what I could see now was an enormous, heavy-duty metal door. Uber Dick grinned maliciously at me through the small window at the top of the door, and then disappeared out of view.

That was how we'd ended up in this shit hole. Mikey'd woken up about a half hour after that – he'd also had his ropes cut and the bag removed from his head – completely disoriented. He'd sobbed silently against my shoulder for a while as I hugged him closed, then he'd somehow calmed himself down and had extricated himself from my grip.

I wish he'd given me a clue how to calm down, since I'd spent the next god-knows-how-long pacing that 6-foot by 6-foot hell until I'd decided it'd be a good idea to jump the enormous Mob bodyguard.

Good one, Gerard.

I was knocked out of my reverie by the sound of yet more footsteps coming into the room. Seriously, were more guards necessary? It was pretty pathetic actually. Or, it would be if these guys were so fucking scary. Not that I was scared.

Terrified out of my fucking mind, more like.

The footsteps coming down the hall outside the cell now were different to those of the heavy-set guards thumping feet. They were...sort of delicate? They sounded purposeful and light, like those of someone who knew they were important.

The man who strode through the door next was just...unbelievable. You know in every tacky Mob movie, there's that Mob boss? That short, Italian, fat guy with that air of superiority about him?

That guy was standing right in front of me. It was like this guy had been picked purely to follow the stereotype. I would've laughed if I hadn't been so sure that I'd get a kick in the teeth for it.

Instead, I bit down hard on my lip and glared at his shoes – perfectly polished black loafers – willing the nervous giggles threatening to burst free from free to disappear. Mikey must've seen that something was wrong, because he shuffled closer to me and nudged my hard in the ribs with his elbow. Fucking pointy elbow, might I add.

I grunted and frowned at him, but at least the giggles were gone. He retorted with a scathing look that was quite clearly the universal 'shut your fucking mouth' look. My brother, always so good with the looks. Then again, the boy hardly ever spoke with actual words, so he'd have to be pretty damn good.

I looked up at the man again, hoping I could do so with a more sober attitude this time. Fortunately – or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it – the guy was glaring at me so intensely that I didn't find him remotely amusing anymore. Apparently he'd learnt how to detract attention away from his height.

I'd have gulped, but this wasn't a horror movie and I wasn't a fucking girl. He was wearing the same black suit as his men - because this guy was obviously the boss of this...thing - though his was clearly more expensive. He was somehow intimidating, and I couldn't figure out why. He was tiny, I mean even I could've knocked him out, there was nothing about him that should be scary. Then again, it could have something to do with his minions.

The procession still hadn't finished, though these next footsteps were yet more different. They were shuffling and reluctant, completely the opposite of the boss'. They sounded like those of a grumpy teenager.

Which, I found out when the person the footsteps belonged to entered the room, was correct. If I was shocked when the boss had walked in the room, I was fucking astounded now.

Perhaps a little over five and a half feet, chin-length black hair and sparkling hazel eyes so gorgeous I couldn't stand to look away, the boy who slumped into the room now couldn't have been any different to the other gang members if he'd tried. He looked about eighteen, my age, and was glaring at the ground like it had done something to personally wrong him.

His face looked simultaneously adorably young and impossibly old. He was wearing the same black suit as the boss, but he looked so much fucking better in it. I noticed vaguely that he was wearing Converse instead of the loafers the boss wore, and that made him about a thousand times hotter in my perspective.

Yeah, I have a thing for Converse - you don't like it, then don't wear them.

I realised I was staring when the boy's head jerked up and his eyes caught mine. My breath froze in my lungs and I dropped my eyes to the floor. I concentrated on my boots like they were the most interesting footwear in the world, all to avoid his eyes.

Oh god, I realised suddenly, I was crushing on my kidnapper...That was wrong on so many levels. It was some sort of syndrome, right? Stock-something-or-other. Then again, I was pretty sure it took longer than thirty seconds to kick in.

Suddenly, the boss was talking. His voice was rich, and impossible to tune out. He'd be one hell of a story-teller, I decided. You know, when he wasn't kidnapping people.

'Mr Way, I presume?' It wasn't posed as a question.

I stared up at my captor, wondering just how rhetorical his question was. Was I expected to speak? To nod? Maybe I should lie, tell them I was someone else? Whatever I was expected to do, I knew it wasn't to stare at the young guy behind the boss. Believe me, I was trying really hard not to do that, but god was it hard.

'You must be Gerard,' he continued, nodding at me, 'meaning you are Mikey.'

I snarled as he looked at Mikey. No one got to call him that, not unless they were family or wanted their noses broken. Not that I was in much of a position for nose-breaking, but still. If I wasn't stuck in a cell and my body didn't ache like crazy, I'd have been all over the bitch.

I'd like to have been all over the young guy, but in a totally different way...

Concentrate, Gerard!

'I take it you boys are unaware as to why you are here?' the boss asked smoothly, casually, like this was a conversation he had all the time.

Then again, maybe it was. I realised too late that an answer was expected of me.

'Come, come, boys. Don't be shy. I won't hurt you.' he promised.

I let out a bark of shocked laughter at that, which earned me three furious glares, one raised eyebrow from the boss and...Was that a smirk from HotBod? A flourish of pride filled me suddenly with that. Oh god, I was in too deep already.

Not that being trapped in a basement by some sort of Mob stereotype wasn't too deep.

'Ah, I'll take that to mean that my men were not exactly...gentle with you?' the boss guessed.

'Thank you, Captain Obvious.' I muttered.

As soon as I'd said it, I regretted it. I scrunched my eyes closed and waited for some sort of beating. I heard the sudden scuffing of heavy boots and then I was being yanked to my feet to a hand wrapped tightly around my throat. My eyes flew open as I gasped and scratched and pulled at the hand, to no avail. My head cracked back against the wall with a sickening _crunch!_ and then something was trickling down the back of my neck...blood? Oh God.

Mikey yelped and leapt up to jump the guy, but was instantly picked from the air by another guard and restrained like me.

Hissing and spitting, I aimed a sharp kick at the guy's shin. The guy's unbelievably rock-hard, unmoving shin. I choked out a gasping sob as pain rocketed up my foot and jarred my knee. What were these guys made of, fucking concrete? Maybe Mikey and I had somehow happened upon some kind of mutant group. You know, like X Men: Kidnapping Edition. It'd be just our luck really.

'Now, now boys. No need to be so rough.' announced the boss, his deep voice calm but loud above the scuffling.

The guard holding Mikey backed off instantly and returned to his place by the door, but my guy wasn't quite so cooperative. Instead, his grip on my throat tightened and he moved his face into my personal space, his eyes narrowing and his breath utterly rancid. I considered offering him a breath mint, but I didn't think it'd be a smart move. Plus, I was sort of being throttled.

'He disrespected you, Sir.' he hissed in my face, spittle coating my face.

'Yes, I am quite aware of that,' the boss replied quietly, stepping forward to place a controlling hand on the guy's shoulder, 'but I think I can handle myself. I am, after all, not a child.'

Realising the implications of his actions, the guy yanked his hand back from my throat - dropping me heavily onto the stone floor.

'N-no, Sir! That wasn't what I was saying!' he stuttered, practically whimpering in his urgent need to make this right.

I'd have laughed at the sight - this beast begging for mercy from a man he could've bench pressed - but I was a little busy, what with the excruciating pain shooting across my ass from the impact.

My throat stung like crazy, and my bad mood from this morning...well, let's just say there hadn't been any improvement. Today was so not my day.

'Calm down, man.' the boss ordered, clearly irritated.

He mumbled under his breath unintelligibly then regained his composure suddenly and looked back at me. His eyes, dark and menacing, bore into my skull. I fought the urge to close my eyes, desperate to get away from that judging glare. No wonder the guards were in fucking pieces around him.

'Now, Gerard, I believe I asked you a question.' he reminded me, one of his thick eyebrows raising slowly.

'What is this fucking place?' I croaked, rubbing my sore neck.

Well, what else was I going to say? I didn't know what answer he was looking for, and I had some questions of my own. Right now, I wanted to get a clue about where I was - so maybe I'd have some chance of escaping. Also, if I answered his question, it would be like giving in to him.

Sure, antagonising your kidnappers was never a good idea, but I couldn't let this guy think he'd won. I had my pride after all.

'Also,' I added, knowing for sure that this next comment wasn't going to do any good, 'just a question, but should I be worried for the safety of my ass?'

I cracked a grin, hoping it looked more genuine than it felt. Because really, I was more than a little worried. Two teenage boys help captive by a group of large, intimidating men in the woods - don't pretend that you weren't thinking it.

'Depends,' growled the guy whose hand prints were still embedded in my neck, leaning in so close I could see his tonsils bob as he talked, 'you offering, faggot?'

His hand found my hair and yanked my head sideways so my head was jerked awkwardly onto my shoulder. His breath fell thickly on my ear when he moved yet closer.

'Don't go wishing, it might just happen.' he hissed threateningly, so only I could hear it.

Fuck. Note to self: gang members did not respond well to sarcasm. Or comments on their sexuality. Or any sort of attitude. Really, one day these things were going to sink in. Right now wasn't going to be that day, unfortunately.

'Looking forward to it, fucker.' I snapped, my voice surprisingly strong compared to the weakness I was feeling.

At that, the hand in my hair disappeared. Before I could do any kind of mental victory dance however, a thick fist was being driven deep into my gut. I coughed and doubled over, landing on my knees on the hard floor. Blood filled my mouth and spilled out onto my jeans. These were my good jeans as well - even if they were covered in dust and torn at the knees.

Hey, that's how I roll. Scruffy chic and all that. Not that my fashion sense meant much right now. All that really mattered was that my insides had just exploded and I was having trouble breathing. The black spots in my vision couldn't mean anything good either.

'I told you to calm down!' barked the boss, his quiet voice angry enough to defeat any full-bellied bellow.

The guard didn't reply this time, just backed away and stomped at the floor like a toddler who'd had their favourite toy taken away. The idea of me being his favourite toy...there weren't enough shivers in the world to convey my feelings on that.

I swayed slightly on my knees, blind behind my hair which had helpfully plastered itself across my face. My stomach churned painfully and I felt bile crawl up my throat, but I swallowed it down quickly. I was not going to embarrass myself by puking. It was just not going to happen.

I lifted my head slowly as it seemed to have put on a lot of weight in the last minute. I glanced up at the men scattered across the room - noticing that strangely there seemed to be twice as many as before. There were even two bosses, though they looked completely the same. They were even joined together at the arm! Now that was a trick if you could pull it off.

Oh right, double-vision. Smooth, Gerard, totally smooth.

The faces of the group were generally bored, with the odd eye roll thrown in. All except for the young one, who now seemed to be glowing softly I realised. He looked like an angel, or he would if he'd turn to face me. He'd turned his back on the action.

Fucking coward, I decided. Couldn't even watch his own victim get beaten up. Coward, for sure.

I tried to glare at him, but my facial muscles weren't up to playing hardball it appeared. Plus, glaring at someone's back doesn't often do much good. Unless they had eyes on the back of their head.

I was sure my mother had eyes on the back of her head. She always seemed to know what I was doing even when she wasn't looking at me. She called it her 'motherly instinct' which was total bullshit. The woman couldn't even make toast without setting the toaster on fire, and sadly I'm not exaggerating.

Something sparked in the back of my brain then. Well, it was more like a slow throb of light, since my brain clearly wasn't up to full capacity right then. Anyway, whatever it was, it was telling me that I hadn't seen my mom since last night. So surely, she'd have to be worried about Mikey and me by now. Right?

Dad would probably assume we'd run off, being the rebellious teens he was convinced we were, that we'd stumble in some time after dark. Mom was the one who'd get worried. Though she did have a tendency to be sort of...flighty, i guess you'd call it. She'd be just about to worry about us, then she'd realise she needed to check on some eBay bid or something and she'd forget.

I really hoped she wasn't forgetting about us right now. That'd really suck. To be kidnapped is bad enough, but to be kidnapped and then forgotten? That's kind of a bitch.

Woah, concentrate Gerard! I realised that the whole time I'd been thinking about Mom and that glowing guy and the gang's facial expressions, they'd been trying to get my attention.

I could see them yelling in my direction, their mouths wide open, but the sound was muffled and far away, like I was hearing them from under water. I shook my head and my hearing cleared a little, but it was still hard to pick up on.

'It appears...not up to...Let's go...son, you have...training...' all this was coming from the boss, who appeared to be leaving.

Yeah, I realised as he disappeared through the doorway, he was definitely leaving. I wondered slowly over the use of 'son'. Did that mean that the hot guy I'd been staring at, the fucking yellow-belly, was the boss's son?

I watched as the procession trailed out of the room, not quite understanding what was happening. I did however understand that the way the young guy's ass moved in those trousers was very interesting.

Brilliant. I was crushing on a mob boss's son. The guy was dangerous and a coward and I should hate him.

Instead, I was remembering his eyes. They were so pretty...

And then I guess I passed out, because when I woke up Mikey was fussing over me like my own little Florence Nightingale. He didn't seem to find that comment as funny as I did, but that could've been due to the concussion I was possibly harbouring.


	5. Chapter Five

**Hello everyone *waves*. Sorry for the lack of updates, but I'm actually writing this on my lj now instead. I'm already on chapter 35 on there, so that should keep you busy! My journal is drdeath_defying.**

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**Frank's POV**

Her black-brown hair tumbled in loose curls around her bright, heart-shaped face. Hazel eyes so similar to my own sparkled back at me through the glass of the picture frame.

I stared back at my mother, ignoring the misting of tears clouding my vision. I sniffed and scrubbed my eyes roughly with my jacket sleeve.

I stroked a loving finger across the picture, wiping off a stray tear. What I'd give to have my mother here now.

'What would you think, Mom?' I whispered to the empty room, 'Would you be proud?'

I sincerely doubted it. The life I was living - correction: the life I'd been forced to live - was hardly one a mother would wish on her son. It was one an overbearing, controlling father would wish on his son. I knew from experience.

Suddenly, there was a loud banging against the door. I jerked and the frame slipped from my fingers and shattered against the floor.

'Fuck!' I exclaimed, dropping to my knees on the floor and scrabbling to pick up the pieces of glass now scattered across the dark wood.

'What you doing?' sneered one of my father's men from the doorway.

So that banging had been his thick fists. I sighed inwardly; would these men ever grow out of the Neanderthal phase? Considering their occupation, I suppose it was unlikely. My father didn't hire his lackeys for their smarts, after all.

'What do you want?' I snarled back, scooping the glass into my palm.

'Woah, calm it Little Iero.' he condescended me.

I glared at him over my shoulder, but it didn't seem to affect him. To be fair, the guy was practically seven foot and I was...shorter than that - I could hardly threaten him. It just bugged me how many double-standards there were in this house: my father's minions would only condescend me when Father was not around, otherwise I was 'Sir'.

When I didn't reply, the guy got to the point.

'The boss wants to see you in his office.' he explained gruffly, leaning against the door frame casually.

I felt a strange possessiveness flood through my veins seeing him standing there, like he owned the place. This was my room, this was my Father's house, and he should damn-well remember that.

Unfortunately, I was just the 'Daddy's boy' around here, which apparently meant zero respect unless

'Daddy' was actually in the room.

I nodded vaguely at the guy, implying that I'd go soon.

'He wants to see you, _now._' The guy insisted, folding his thick arms across his chest.

'I'll be there.' I replied, and glared at him until he huffed, shrugged and disappeared out the door, slamming it as he went.

I growled under my breath. I hated this place, I hated how everything was just swept under the rug, how everyone was stabbing at least one other person in the back - occasionally literally. This place was fucking insane, and I seemed to be the only one who could see it.

I tightened my fists angrily - and instantly regretted it. I hissed as about a thousand pieces of glass sliced through my skin, pain slicing through my hand.

'Fuck!' I ground out, grinding my teeth together.

I stood shakily and stumbled to the bathroom, not yet opening my fist. I slapped the wall blindly until I found the light switch, flicking it on and leaning against the sink.

I turned on the cold tap and opened my hand, letting the glass shower down into the basin, a swirl of blood flowing down the plug after it.

Groan, I hated blood. I wasn't squeamish or anything, but I'd still rather not be able to see something that should clearly be on the inside on the outside. Finally, after a few seconds, I looked away from the sink - blaming the dizziness I was feeling on the blood loss and not on my dislike of blood.

Unfortunately the only other thing in front of me was a mirror. As I rinsed the blood off my palm, I glared at my reflection.

You see, it doesn't matter who you are or who your parents are, if you're a teenager and you look in the mirror, you ain't gonna like what you see.

Right now, all I could see was a pathetically pale, gaunt-looking kid with empty eyes and hair a shade or two too dark for his complexion. Believe it or not, that hair was the only thing about me that I didn't totally despise. Because it wasn't really me - it was the only part of me I had any control over.

Obviously, it was dyed and when you live in the headquarters of a notoriously violent mob gang, that's fucking hard to get away with.

You see, my father wasn't exactly tolerant of any...experiments with looks. To the point where, when one of his men found a pack of DIY hair dye in my bathroom a few years previously, my father had given me a black eye that didn't fade for two weeks. I hadn't stopped dying it after that - my little bit of rebellion, you know? - on the hopes that my father would be forced to ignore the fact that my hair hadn't seen it's natural colour for weeks or face humiliation by admitting to his men that I'd rebelled against him. My father - never one for humiliation - had played right into my plan, and so my hair had remained black for years.

Eventually I knew my eyes would focus on that part of my neck, on that splash of black ink etched into the skin of my neck. I tried to avoid it, looking anywhere but at it, but it was impossible to ignore. Sighing, I gave in and stared.

Below my right ear, just under the line of my hair so it was always visible, the scorpion curled in on itself, its stinger held above its head and ready to strike. On the surface a pretty cool tattoo, but not when you realised that I shared it with every other person in this house. A gang tattoo, one every member of my father's gang was forced to own. Even if they never chose to join, even if they were just unfortunate enough to have been born into the bloodline.

I'd had the tattoo for nearly five years now, since the day after my thirteenth birthday. Yeah, a little early for skin mutilation I suppose - but you try telling that to a seven-foot tall hard-man with a tattoo needle.

Scrunching up my right shoulder so I couldn't see the tattoo, I glanced back down at my hand. I wrinkled my nose in disgust at the red spots splattering the sink and stuck my hand under the tap to distract myself. I gasped as the cold water seeped into the thousands of tiny cuts lining my palm, the urge to yank my hand back. I knew there would be some glass stuck under the skin that I'd need to get out, but I also knew that my father was waiting for me downstairs, and leaving him waiting could end up more painful than any glass cut.

Substituting actual medical attention for wrapping a piece of tissue around my hand, I shut off the tap and shuffled back to the bedroom. I picked my way carefully across the floor so I didn't end up with fucked up feet along with the hands.

I perched on the edge of the bed, pressing the tissue gently into my palm to stop the bleeding. I grimaced at the blood stains spattering the sleeve of my shirt, deciding to roll it up rather than actually changing the shirt. I tugged on my tie - black and thin, standard gang issue - to loosen it a little, because, really, there was no one I was trying to impress right now. If I had been following the strict uniform laws of the house correctly, I'd have been wearing my suit jacket and loafers, not my much preferred red Converse as I usually did. But come on, I was in my own room. If I couldn't relax here, where could I?

Not that this place was overly relaxing. With dark red walls and mahogany floor boards, this room was so dark it was actually pretty morbid. Morbid can be cool, if you're talking black carpets and band posters, but not like this. The room was just so...empty. It wasn't like my bedroom, it was like a guest room, and I'd felt out of place in it since birth.

I wasn't allowed to add personal touches to it, nor was I allowed to play any music. I was lucky to have an iPod, even if Father had made sure that all it contained was classical music. Classical music was 'more conducive to a productive atmosphere' Father said. I know right, total bullshit.

When the flow of blood had slowed enough, I dug around under my bed for my shoes and slipped them on my feet. Running my good hand through my hair, I stood shakily and walked to the door.

I opened it and stepped out into the hall, nodding at the guard standing across the hall from me. Yeah, that's right, my room was guarded. Never been quite sure if that was to keep me safe, or to keep me trapped. It wasn't something I was going to ask my father, was it?

During some of my more paranoid moments, I'd been sort of worried that those guys...took their jobs too seriously. You know, like watching me in my sleep or something. My biggest nightmare was waking up with one of them looming over my bed.

Suppressing a shiver, I shuffled off down the corridor and down the stairs.

Father's office was on the ground floor of the gang's three-storey mansion. No broken down warehouses for these boys, oh no, only the best for them. The rest of the house was decorated mostly the same as my room, all deep reds and mahogany.

On the way down the enormous staircase, I passed at least seven men, all either heading upstairs or guarding doorways. Even I didn't know what was behind most of those doors, and I'd been living here since I was born. Probably didn't want to know, to be honest.

When I reached Father's office, its door – enormous, dark and foreboding even to those who didn't know about the man sitting behind it – was flanked on either side by two of his best guards. Both built like brick walls and about as smart as one. I nodded to them both and the one on the left leaned over to open the door for me.

'The Boss'll see you now.' he grunted.

No shit, why else would you have opened the door? I didn't say, instead nodding again and stepping past him into the room.

'Thank you, Marcus.' Father called from behind his desk and the guard, Marcus, pulled the door closed behind me.

The snick! of the catch settling in its frame sound sort of final to me, like the sound of someone flicking the safety off on their gun before they end your life. It wasn't that I thought Father had called me here to kill me – though it wasn't something I'd rule out for him – he just made me nervous. Hey, when your father takes up a living that involves kidnapping and murder, you get to judge me. Until then, shut your trap.

He didn't look up, his head bent over a stack of papers. A hit list, the names of my father's many employees, hell it could be his fucking grocery list for all I knew.

His silence irked me, but mostly because I knew it for the technique it was. Father had learned that to gain the upper hand, the enemy must be afraid of you. Nothing scares a person more than pure silence. The bit that _really_ got to me though, was the fact that it worked. Every fucking time.

I fought the urge to stuff my hands into my pockets or to scuff my feet against the floor. My nerves were rocketing up every second he kept me waiting, I wasn't sure how long I'd last before I broke down. I felt like I needed to apologise, to drop to my knees and beg for forgiveness, but I wasn't sure that I'd actually done anything wrong.

As I went over the last week in my head for the hundredth-thousandth time, dissecting every moment for some sort of disobedience, Father spoke.

'Sit down, Frank.' He ordered, gesturing to the armchairs in front of his desk.

I gulped and obeyed immediately, dropping myself into one and shuffling back until my back reached the soft leather. As Father looked up from his papers and at me, I could see him assessing me with his eyes. I leant back further into the chair, hoping it would somehow sprout a mouth and swallow me whole.

What did my father see, I wondered, when he looked at me? There wasn't any pride in those cold, dark eyes – there wasn't anything. My father wasn't one for showing emotion, after all. I wished I could see inside that mind, see why my father did what he did. Why he expected me to follow in his footsteps when this life clearly wasn't for me.

'How are you, son?' he eventually asked, his tone both coldly casual and terrifyingly judging.

I felt like my answer meant something, like the wrong answer could mean something really bad for me, which is why what came out of my mouth next was hardly good enough.

'I – I'm fine, sir.' I mumbled, mentally slapping myself on the forehead.

Don't stare at the floor, I reminded myself, and for fuck's sake stop wringing your hands!

Really, it was pretty pathetic that this man still had this effect on me. I was eighteen, I'd had _eighteen_ years to get used to his brutality, why wasn't I used to it by now?

Because he could beat the shit out of me any time he wanted, and no one would stop him. Hell, they'd help.

Father hummed and nodded slowly, leaning his elbows on the desk and bringing his index fingers together against his lips.

'How is your schoolwork going?' he questioned from behind those fingers, his eyes boring into me like he could see straight into my brain.

Ah, now that was a question I hadn't been expecting. You see, I was homeschooled – gang children aren't exactly welcome at public schools, you know? – so if my father was really interested in my progress, he could've just asked my tutor. He wouldn't usually come to me about it unless he'd found some information he didn't much like. Then again, even when that happened the meetings usually consisted of a quick thump to the back of the head and a reminder that he was keeping an eye on me.

'Umm...fine, thank you sir.' I replied shakily, not sure what kind of response he was looking for.

A single thick, black eyebrow was raised at this, which set my heart thundering out of my chest and running for the exit. If only I could follow after it.

Father leaned back in his chair, resting his hands against the desktop. He watched me for a minute, one impossibly long, heart-attack inducing minute, and then he did something completely unexpected.

He smiled.

It was such a novel thing to happen that I very nearly gasped out loud.

'It's time, Frank.' He announced dramatically.

Oh God, that couldn't mean anything good. When my father got excited about something, it usually meant he was about to come into a lot of money, or someone he disliked was about to turn up dead. Sometimes both.

' 'Time', sir?' I stuttered quietly, unwilling to wait for the unveiling a second longer.

Father nodded, grinning at me in an almost mischievous way. It was like he was sharing a secret with me, like we were small children swapping gossip. I wasn't sure I wanted to know whatever he was about to say.

'It is time, son, for you to end your studies,' he paused for effect, gauging my reaction, 'and join the gang.'

I stopped breathing. My world imploded suddenly. For a second, I couldn't even see. My body just...stopped functioning.

_Join the gang_...

When I finally came back to myself, I noticed that Father's eyebrows had scrunched together tightly. He didn't look pleased. Probably because I wasn't showing the excitement he'd expected. From the way my face felt, I probably looked like someone had just hit me in the face. With a dead puppy. After slipping me some sort of hallucinogenic drug.

I bobbed my head up and down in some weird imitation of a nod. Father still wasn't happy, but he carried on talking so I must've gotten somewhere.

'You understand, of course, that this will not be easy.' He explained, 'I'm not going to go easy on you because you are family.'

Well it wasn't like being family had gotten me any deals in the past. In fact, I'd got it worse than any other person in this house _because_ I was family.

I nodded again, too afraid to tell him what I was really thinking. To tell him that this wasn't what I wanted, that I'd never once imagined myself as part of the gang because I wasn't that type of person. I wasn't my father, as much as he wanted me to be.

All this stayed with me, because I was too much of a coward to let him know. Frank Iero, a mob boss' and a fucking chicken. Something about that didn't sound quite right.

'You will join the other members and myself in gang meetings and you will go on any missions I see fit.' He told me, his tone matter-of-fact, 'Without argument.'

These last words were growled in such a tone that left no wriggle-room. I would do what Father did whether I liked it or not, or I'd end up a lot worse off.

'You will have to be put through an initiation to secure your place in the gang. The details of this will be decided upon at a later time.' He explained.

Fuck. Gang initiations were...tough.

I'm not talking athletic tests, no 'run here in this time' or 'lift this weight for this long'. I'm talking murder. Rape. Kidnapping. Torture. I'm talking the kinds of things that would get you put away for life if you did it outside of the gang.

Sometimes the target and mission was picked for you, which was hard enough. But sometimes, they asked you to get...creative. They'd drop you off on a street corner and watch as you picked some random person off the street and did whatever came to mind. The more creative you got, the more respect you got.

This is what I grew up in – and you thought your life was bad. Homework and friendship troubles ain't seeming so fucking bad now, are they?

I didn't do creativity. I mean, I could play a little guitar and could write a mean story if I had to, but I didn't do their kind of creativity. I wasn't brutal. I wasn't a murderer. But I would be if they had their way.

'Do you understand what I am saying, Frank?' Father asked impatiently.

'Yes, Father.' I replied, hoping my voice sounded stronger than I felt.

'I trust that you appreciate the opportunity I am giving you here?'

'Of course, Father.'

'Good, you can go.' And with a flourish of his hand, he dismissed me.

I stood on wobbly legs and hobbled in a zombie-daze out of the office. I brushed past Marcus as I left the room and vaguely noticed that he growled at me. Something about watching where I was 'fucking going, Little Iero'. I didn't reply, practically floating up the stairs and into my room.

Some part of my mind, some place far at the back that was still awake, told me that I was clenching my fists too tight, and that my bad hand was spilling blood onto the wooden floor.

As I slammed the door behind me and collapsed against it, I felt that tiny spark of life inside my chest die. That spark had been the hope I'd had to get out of this life, to leave the gang life behind.

A single tear trailed down my cheek as I gave up. A gnawing cold settled in my heart.


End file.
